


Angels, Demons, and Human Error

by angelsdemonsandhumanerror



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 09, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Sam Winchester, Canon Rewrite, Cured Crowley, Fallen Angels, Gen, Human Castiel, Human Crowley, Possessed Sam, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1310197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsdemonsandhumanerror/pseuds/angelsdemonsandhumanerror
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The demon trials were completed and the gates of hell were closed - only instead of being locked away, the demons rose as the angels fell. Both groups are forming factions, fighting on a larger scale than ever before, and humans are getting caught in the crossfire.</p><p>Sam is injured, possessed by an angel so he can heal - but the angel is not who he says he is. Castiel is human, struggling to adapt while finding himself responsible for Hael, a fallen sibling. Crowley is human as well, and attempting to reconcile his new nature with the position he holds and maintain his power against Abaddon's opposition. Kevin is crushed that his chance at getting out has been destroyed. And Dean is growing more and more desperate, more and more willing to do whatever it takes to get them all out of this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here, pt. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a season 9 rewrite, not a complete canon divergence, meaning it starts at the beginning of season 9 and diverges into a new story, while still using elements from the canon storyline as well. As a result, in order to introduce the plot we've had to use a lot of material directly from the first episode in this chapter. Stick with it - there is still plenty of new original content, and in just a chapter or two this story will barely resemble the actual episodes!
> 
> We are passionate fans of Supernatural, but this season has been falling flat in our opinion. Our intent with this story is to fix what the Supernatural writers have been struggling with. This story will have plenty of "screen" time for all characters, actual character and relationship development, will deal with issues as soon as they arise without cracky filler, and work in new mythology. Imagine everything you hoped season 9 would be before it happened - that's what we want this to be.

The Impala roared down an empty road. Its headlights bit through the pitch black of the air, slicing away to create a path for the car to pass through. What little of the world that was visible outside the Impala’s windows looked barren and bleak. It could have been anywhere.

No music played; instead, the two brothers sat in silence, each absorbed in opposite thoughts about the same thing. Sam flipped through a newspaper that he had picked up at the last gas station.

"This makes no sense. I mean, how many angels fell – hundreds, thousands? And nobody sees anything. This is... Look at this. They're calling it a meteor shower." Sam looked at his brother's face, and let out an exasperated sigh when he saw that Dean hadn't turned his gaze from the road at all. "Seriously? What's going on, man? You okay?"

"Me?" Dean seemed surprised to be addressed. "Yeah. I'm fine. It's just –"

"It's just we got a major freakin' crap fest on our hands," Sam interrupted, leaning back into his seat. He was starting to become uncomfortable with the confines of the car. "Yeah, tell me about it. Thousands of super-powered dicks touching down, and we got no idea where to start."

"Angels aren't our problem right now, okay?" Dean's voice was stern, and he had removed a hand from the steering wheel to accentuate his statement. "Or demons, or Metatron, or whatever the hell happened to Cas." Sam could see that Dean’s jaw was clenched, and he had the steering wheel in a death grip.

Sam knew he should feel bad for Dean; after all, he was only trying to take care of him. A part of him wished he could muster up the same loyalty. But there was so much more to worry about, and Dean's lack of perspective had driven a wedge between them. Sam justified the annoyance that was turning into anger by blaming it on his dedication to end the fight between humanity and the supernatural.

"Why?" Sam didn't need to ask what the "problem" was. He knew Dean wanted them to focus on fixing what the trials had done to him before they looked at the world. "Because we hugged it out in that church and – and now we're gonna go to Disneyland? Dean, you said it yourself – we're not gonna sleep till this is done."

“I know,” Dean said with unnecessary aggression.

Sam wanted to move past his own health and focus on the bigger picture, but he realized the only way to do that was by going Dean’s way.

“So, what’s the problem?” Sam caved.

“You.” Dean said, not taking his eyes off of the road. Sam looked at him, trying to figure out what he had done. “Look, there's no easy way to say this, okay? But something happened back there in the church. And I don't know what. I don't know why.” Dean closed his eyes briefly and took a breath. “You're dying, Sam.”

Sam looked at his brother. Was he insane?  He was obviously fine.

“Shut up,” he said, dismissing his brother.

* * *

The doctor was talking, but Dean wasn't really listening. The meaning of the MRIs the doctor held was lost on him. Dean cursed his lack of knowledge. If he had known what he was doing all along, they may not have gotten into this mess.

Sam was on the hospital bed, where he had been for the past few hours. Looking at the horrible green of the gown coupled with the tube in his nose made Dean feel as if he was being clawed open from collarbone to navel. But he had to keep looking for some sort of motion - a flutter of eyelids, a twitch of a finger - to let him know his brother would pull out of this alright. He had to do it for Sam.

“The MRI shows massive internal burns affecting many of the major organs,” Dean heard as he tuned back in to the doctor. His gaze flicked between the MRIs and Sam. The slicing and burning of guilt and desperation bit at him. “Oxygen to the brain has been severely deprived. The coma is the result of the body doing everything in its limited power to protect itself from further harm.”

"This wasn't supposed to happen," Dean said, more to Sam and himself. He should have taken the trials on himself like they’d planned. Sam should have been left alive to live the life he always wanted in a world without the trouble of heaven and hell.

"If your brother continues on this trajectory, the machines might keep him alive, but-"

"He'll be dead," Dean interrupted, his tone clipped and distant. The thought of Sam's body containing nothing pushed him close to his emotional breaking point.

"Technically, yes," the doctor said. "I'm afraid so."

Dean clung to the desperate hope that there would be some miracle cure for the havoc that the trials had wrought. After everything they had been through, there was no way he was going to give up on his brother now. It was his job to keep him safe.

"So, there's-," Dean felt his emotion slipping into his voice, so he started over. "There's no recovery? I mean, there's no bounce-back. There's no nothing." His gaze on the doctor was steady and pleading.

"I'm afraid that's in God's hands now," the doctor replied, attempting to comfort him.

The mention of God pushed Dean over the edge he had been hanging on. The entire fucking situation was God's fault. All the shit they had been through in their lives was God's fault. God had walked away from his responsibilities, leaving no one in his place.

"You're a doctor. You're a medical professional," Dean tried desperately to keep his voice calm. "You're trying to tell me that my brother's life is in God's hands? What, is that supposed to be a - a comfort?" He shook his head and gave a small chuckle, leaning onto the railing at the end of the bed.

"Mr. Daugherty -," the doctor started, his voice taking on a spot of genuine concern as he employed the use of a name he didn't know was fake.

"No," Dean said in a level voice. "God has nothing to do with this equation at all."

"I didn't mean -," the doctor backtracked, probably thinking he had offended Dean’s religion. Well, in a way he had.

Dean looked at Sam again. He felt the razors eating at his stomach, his skin. He had let Sam down, and now he had to make it up. The doctor was telling him he could do nothing to help and it was time to let him go; well -

"That's not good enough," he stated out loud. He still had options. The angels were still out there and he was still Dean Winchester.

He mentally apologized to Sam before pushing out of the room and following the signs to the hospital chapel.

* * *

The chapel offered a different feel from the rest of hospital. Instead of being white and sterile, it felt warm and the light was softer. The candles and stained glass windows gave it a sort of glow that the harsh lights of Sam’s room couldn't. Dean had never been one for churches, but he wasn't usually so desperate.

There were only a couple other people in the chapel, whispering prayers under their breath to a god who had abandoned them long ago. It felt intrusive to see these faithful people engaging in such a private matter. Whatever they were saying should be between them and whatever deity happened to be listening in.

Dean took a pew away from them, giving them as much privacy as he could, and settled on the kneeler, clasping his hands together. He didn't know what the exact requirements were for praying, but he was going to try, even if it was based on what he had seen in movies. He closed his eyes.

"Cas, are you there?" Dean prayed to the only angel he knew would help him. "Sammy's hurt. He's hurt, uh -," Dean thought of his brother, lying in the hospital bed, being kept alive only by the machines he was attached to. "He's hurt pretty bad. And, um…," Dean tried to think of what else Cas would need to hear. "I know you think that I'm pissed at you, okay? But I don't care that the angels fell. So whatever you did or didn't do, it doesn't matter, okay? We'll work it out. Please, man, I need you here."

Dean opened his eyes slowly, unsure of what to expect. He glanced to his left and then to his right, anticipating Cas to appear the way he always did. Nothing happened.

“Screw it,” he whispered to himself. Even if Castiel wouldn't help him, he had other options. He would do anything to save Sam. “Okay, listen up. This one goes out to any angel with their ears on. This is Dean Winchester... And I need your help.”

\---

He had been in the dark cell for a long time when it happened. For so long he had grown accustomed to the nothing of silence and darkness. Then there was a blazing light all around him and a burning pain as his wings were singed away. He couldn't see them, but he wouldn't have dared to look at the burning stumps. The sensation was overwhelming. He reached out to a vessel, convincing him that he would be doing the will of God, and when he received a hesitant “yes”, he finished his fall.

He awoke in an environment the like of which he had only heard whispers of in Heaven. Having been away for a very long time - indeed, since before the current age of man - the tall structures of glass, stone, and steel were foreign and strange. Walking quickly along the cement path the people around him seemed to be following, he searched his mind for his location.

He was again interrupted.

“This is Dean Winchester…and I need your help.” A quick glance at the people walking beside him assured him that he was hearing a prayer. Dean Winchester… he had heard that name many times in Heaven. Having him as an ally would prove very useful.  He tuned in very closely while continuing to walk with the crowd. “The deal is this - Linwood Memorial Hospital, Randolph, New York. The first one who can help me gets my help in return and you know that ain't nothin’.” He tried to figure out how he would reach Randolph, New York.

Dean Winchester was still speaking. “Hell, it’s no secret that we haven’t always seen eye to eye. And, uh, I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't needing, so…”

This was a perfect opportunity; the other angels would be too busy seeking vessels and working out their politics to go after a human, even one as significant as Dean Winchester.

He began to head towards Linwood Memorial Hospital. 

* * *

Dean ignored Sam’s dismissal.

“Look, just because you’re dying doesn't mean you’re dead - not yet, okay?” His tone demanded Sam’s attention. “We've jimmied ourselves out of worse. We’re going to fight this. I got the plan. You just got to hang on. You hear me?” Dean looked at him quickly, as if to make sure his orders were being followed and Sam hadn't decided to die on him.

“Absolutely,” Sam replied with the sarcasm he saved for his brother. How could he be dying when he was right here?

“You think I’m lying?”  Dean sounded slightly offended, but Sam chalked it up to the incredible practical joke he was trying to pull on him.

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“You understand that we’re not really in this car right now.” Sam didn't respond.

“We are in your head, and you’re in a coma and are dying,” Dean insisted as he continued driving. Sam looked out the window and noticed that the shadows were beginning to look more like the road to Bobby's.

“How do you know that?” Maybe Dean wasn't really Dean. He began to inch his hand towards the glove-compartment, where they kept a bottle of holy water.

“Because I’m you and you’re you.  All of this-,” Dean gestured to the car with a hand, “-is you.  We’re in your head.”

Sam waited for Dean to lose it. His brother was good at practical jokes, but not this good. After saying something that crazy out loud, he would break by grinning or chuckling or something.

Nothing.

“You’re serious.” Sam felt like there was pressure all around his head as the weight of what Dean had been saying settled on him. The word “dying” felt like ice burning on his chest, painful and cold. He exhaled, hoping to relieve some of the tension, but to no avail. He couldn't believe that this was still happening after everything they went through. “I thought that completing the trials was supposed to make me better.”

"And the next time we see Metatron or whoever is to blame for this, we will get some justice," Dean was using his I'm-the-older-brother-voice. "But for right now, we got to fight this, man."

"Okay," Sam replied. He was dying, again, but Dean was saying he could fix it. He had to stay alive because Dean was ordering him to. "All right, what's the plan?"

Dean did a little shake of his head. "I'm working on it."

"What does that mean?" Sam asked, shocked. It was unlike Dean not to at least lie about a plan if he had said he had one. But more importantly- "I'm kind of dying here, apparently."

"It means I'm working on it, alright?" It was phrased as a question, but came out more like an annoyed brush, the like of which parents give their children when they ask a dumb question.

"The thing is, if I am dying – and I believe you. I do. But if you're you but you're really me and you're the part of me that wants to fight to live…," Sam trailed off, unsure if his brother was still paying attention to what he was saying, and not quite sure where he was going with it himself.

"Yes," Dean replied, nodding. "I have no idea what you just said, but continue."

"But if you don't have any idea how I'm supposed to fight, then am I supposed to be fighting at all?" Sam thought of all the times he had almost died. He had always felt that he had to fight and stay alive because… well, that was just what the Winchesters did. Lately, though, he had begun to feel less and less like pushing pack against the design of fate and more like succumbing to the inevitable.

"Are you serious?" Dean asked.

"Hell, yes, he's serious," a familiar gruff voice swatted from the backseat.

Sam turned to look, already knowing who he would see there. Bobby, in the same baseball cap and vest he had always worn, was sitting right there in the Impala. Whatever doubt he had had as to his condition immediately dissipated; there was no way Bobby would be there if this wasn't some sort of dream.

* * *

Castiel was on a road. Surrounded on either side by thick, tall trees, it extended in both directions with no end in sight. There were no buildings, signs or even an intersecting road to give any indication of where on Earth Castiel had landed. It appeared to him to resemble what he had seen of North America over the past few years, but he could not be certain.

Ordinarily, he would use his powers to determine his exact location, then his wings to fly wherever he needed to be. But Metatron had stolen his grace. He was unsure how much, how thoroughly he had fallen, but he could already tell his location senses were gone and his wings were not functioning, leaving him only with the pitiful ability of his vessel to walk along the side of the road and hope something useful would be around the bend.

This effort was further complicated by the Enochian ringing in Castiel’s ears. Losing the ability to understand most of the speech of angels was not stopping him from hearing their deafening screams as they fell, and he felt as though his ear drums were about to shatter.

Castiel wouldn't have thought any earthly noise could have been able to cut through it, but thankfully, the horn of a truck was able to make itself heard as it barreled toward him, granting him a split second to throw himself to the side of the road and avoid being crushed to death.

The shock of it was enough to cut off the sound of screaming, but that discomfort was replaced by a new and disconcertingly human pain. Being thrown to the ground had never been a particularly pleasant experience, but now the sting of his vessel’s skin scraping against dirt and gravel was almost overwhelming.

There was an abrupt screech of brakes, and then a balding, middle aged man dressed in plaid was running towards Castiel, concern visible on his face.

“Hey, buddy. You okay?”

Breathing heavily, Castiel eased himself onto his knees and examined his shredded left hand. It was covered in a surprising amount of blood for such a superficial injury, and felt like it was throbbing from the pain. “It hurts,” he said, only half speaking to the man standing near him.

“The hell you doin’ in the middle of the road like that?”

“I heard angels,” Castiel replied as he rose to his feet, tilting his head towards the sky to look for the glow of his brothers and sisters.

The man’s expression changed from slight worry to deep concern and confusion. “How about we get you some water, hm?” He spoke slowly, with his hand outstretched, as though he was trying not to frighten Castiel.

“I…I don’t drink water.”

“Dehydration’s a real bitch, mister-”

“A phone!” Castiel interrupted, lurching towards the man, “Do you have a phone?” A phone was what he really needed, not silly human sustenance. He needed to call Dean as soon as possible, tell him what happened, and make sure he and Sam were okay.

The man retreated, his hand still held up between them.

“No signal up here,” he answered.

Castiel’s face fell, and internally he began to panic. With no signal he could make no call to Dean, and with no wings and no vehicle there was no way of reaching an area where he could. He was stuck here on this road and…

“How ‘bout a lift?” the man offered, and Castiel’s hope was restored.

“Yes. Good. I would fly, but, I have no wings. Not anymore.” He turned and walked towards the passenger’s side of the truck.

The man turned and watched him walk away, looking like he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d gotten himself into.

* * *

"Sam wants to die," Dean said disbelievingly, "and you think he's got a point?"

"Okay, I don't want to die," Sam conceded to the distress the statement appeared to wreak on Dean. "I asked if maybe I was supposed to -"

"Shut it, Sam," Dean barked at him. Annoyed with being ordered to shut up - he was an adult, not a little kid - Sam grudgingly listened. Dean turned his attention to the back seat, glancing accusingly at Bobby in the rear-view mirror. "You – go. Oh, and, uh, before you throw me under the bus, you're welcome for the hell rescue."

"Hey, first of all, you didn't rescue jack, half-wit. Sam did," Bobby scoffed. "Second of all, Sam, you're in a coma. Now, suck as that may, sometimes that's just the way things go."

Dean wasn’t done with Bobby. "What are you talking about? There's always a way. You taught us that." There was no pleading tone in his voice, but it came across that way anyway; there was something in his words that seemed to beg for agreement.

"Oh, you mean like the way one of you idjits does some bass-ackwards crazy thing to beat death, like sell your soul?" Bobby wasn't being caught by Dean's manipulation. It was obvious that this casual chiding of his past choices was enough to knock Dean, but he simply seemed to be riled up more.

"Exactly like selling my soul," he barked, a confrontational edge creeping into his voice.

"Yeah, like that worked so well the last time," Bobby shot back, the same aggression in his voice. Sam was just about fed up with their bickering. Even in his own head it seemed he couldn't make them see eye to eye.

Which was why when Dean took a hand off the steering wheel and let out an angered, "Oh," Sam burst.

"Enough!" He looked from Dean to Bobby. "Both of you! I can't hear myself think!" It was true. Since the Bobby had appeared in the car, he hadn't been able to even think about the situation.

"Well, you're not actually buying this, are you?" Dean asked, his voice laden with concern. Immediately, Sam opened his mouth to tell him what he wanted to hear.

"Excuse me," Bobby interrupted, the sarcasm aimed like a crosshairs at Dean. "Are you dead? Because I am, and maybe I'm here because I'm the part of Sam that actually knows what the hell he's talking about." He did have a point. If he truly wanted to just fight and live, why would he have imagined Bobby here, arguing for him to die? Dean had always been the one urging him to fight and live, the one protecting him, but Bobby was the one who respected his wishes, not having the same guilt Dean did. Perhaps the fact that he was here now, arguing on his behalf, was a good thing.

"Well, I'm in the front seat because Sam put me here because he wants to fight." Dean glanced at Sam. "Right?"

Just as Sam was thinking that maybe he had a point, Bobby appeared between them.  While jumping in surprise, he wondered why his mind couldn't have thought of an easier way to communicate with him.

“Well… that just got real uncomfortable,”  Bobby said sarcastically. He put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “See ya, Dean.”

“Sam, don’t you dare -"

Sam never found out what he shouldn't do, because he was flashed into the middle of a forest, his brother’s worried expression and demanding tone still etched in his senses.

It was day time, wherever they were; the light was sifting through the treetops, casting a soft glow on the two of them.

“Yip, yip, yip. Am I right?”  Bobby asked, mocking Dean’s orders at him.

“Honestly, Bobby, I -,” Sam’s voice faltered. “I don’t know what’s right.” He waited for a lecture on why dying was the right option.  Dean had given him the keep-going-and-find-a-way-to-fight pep talk, so it seemed only fitting that he now receive the other.

Instead, Bobby put an arm across his shoulder and steered him down a path he hadn't noticed before. Along the route, it seemed greener - as if the vegetation there were more lush than the rest of the forest. Light cascaded just right across it, illuminating their way without making it too bright.

“Let’s walk,” Bobby offered, and they headed down the path.

* * *

In the past few Earth years, usually so inconsequential a time period, Heaven had experienced a staggering amount of conflict. First the apocalypse, then the civil war, led by the rebel Castiel, and most recently, the hunt for the tablet which would reveal the angels’ deepest secrets – all had devastated the realm of the angels and departed human souls.

Hael, though, had been involved in none of that. As the angel of kindness, art and beauty, it would have gone against her very nature to take part in such destructive events. To see the miracles of both Heaven and Earth destroyed in the battles would have been crushing; to potentially witness any of her own creations, some of which she would have been viewing for the first time, crumbled under the powers of her brothers, and splattered with their grace and vessels’ blood, would have broken her heart.

She took no part in any of it, avoiding Zachariah, Michael, Raphael, Naomi, and all their followers, remaining neutral for the duration and tending to the duties she had executed since her creation. Even Castiel she had stayed away from, though she sensed from the one time she had met him that his rebellion had sprung of an appreciation of Earth’s beauty, human and natural, that could rival her own.

So when Hael was abruptly yanked from Heaven and thrown towards Earth with her wings shredding and burning up behind her, she was completely and utterly shocked.

There had been no attacker, no indication of a spell being used against her, and furthermore, no motive for anyone to force her fall. She soon realized that it was not directed at her; it appeared that every single one of her brothers and sisters were falling as well. Their screams echoed with hers as they hurtled towards the planet’s surface.

Excruciatingly painful and terrifying though it was, the fall was quick, and soon Hael was seconds away from impact with no vessel lined up for her. She used the very last remaining power of her damaged but intact grace to find a barely-suitable human girl who would only just hold her. A desperate plea gained Hael a hasty, frightened yes, and then her fall was done.

A few hours later, Hael was sitting in the backseat of her vessel’s car, which she had taken for herself, parked in the lot outside a convenience store in the middle of a thick forest. The distressed calls of her siblings were a constant cacophony in the back of her mind, and it was beginning to give her a headache. She was hungry, and thirsty, and exhausted – though she still had her grace, it had been drained by the fall, allowing her vessel’s needs to take over. She had recognized the necessity of the vehicle, but not thought to find money. And she had no idea what she was going to do next. She had nowhere to go, no one to look for, her wings were damaged beyond her ability to repair them and Heaven, it seemed, was closed for good. Furthermore, her vessel was not going to last much longer. The poor girl had already begun to burn away.

The voices of her siblings had no structure, no meaning. There were no orders and no sense. For the first time in all her existence, Hael was completely lost.

\---

As they began driving, the man who had picked Castiel up informed him that there was a gas station just a few minutes away where Castiel would be able to make a call. Sure enough, they had covered hardly any distance before it appeared.

The man pulled his truck over at the side of the road, and Castiel exited the car immediately and headed directly for the payphone he spotted next to the building. Had he been with the Winchesters, he was certain Dean would have chastised him for being so abrupt – but he wasn’t with them, and that was the problem; he needed to contact them immediately, there was no time for talk.

Castiel was halted by a shout from the man, who still lingered in the truck behind him. Confused, Castiel turned and walked back to the open driver’s window, and was surprised when the man reached out with a handful of bills.

“No, I can’t take your money,” he said, sadly but insistently. He knew he needed it, wasn’t sure how he was going to make the call otherwise, but he could not take advantage of this stranger anymore. He was human of his own mistakes, he did not deserve assistance.

“For the phone, and a sandwich if they have one.” The man was unphased by Castiel’s refusal.

“It’s okay, I don’t eat.” (Actually, his stomach was starting to protest in a way that felt very familiar to the hunger he had experienced as a human years ago. He was beginning to suspect that this statement was no longer true.)

“You’ll figure something.”

Reluctantly, Castiel reached out to receive the money. He could see it wasn’t much, but he was still touched by the stranger’s kindness. Castiel had been treated kindly before when confronted by humanity, by Dean and Sam and Bobby, but that had been different. He had known them then, while this man had only just met him. He had no doubt been frightened Castiel’s odd behavior; he had no reason to believe Castiel was not some sort of human monster – and in many ways he was far worse. Yet this man did not even consider that as he handed the cash over with a gentle smile.

“Take care, kid,” the man said as he began to drive away, although even in his vessel Castiel did not resemble a human child.

As the truck moved out of sight beyond the trees, Castiel turned and approached the payphone next to the long, low gray-blue building that housed the small store. He did not notice the gaze of the young girl in the green car nearby following him as he went.

A fairly tall, large man in biker clothing with a motorcycle parked just a few feet away had already taken control of the phone, but Castiel approached him without hesitation. Whatever this man was discussing, it was certain that Castiel’s conversation would be more important.

“Hang up the phone,” Castiel demanded.

The man stared at him incredulously. “Excuse me?”

“This is an emergency. I don’t want to hurt you.”

The man rolled his eyes and spoke into the phone briefly.

“Hold on, hon.” He turned back to Castiel. “Sure you do. Hurt me.”

“I’m sorry.” Castiel frowned and reached forward with two fingers to knock the man unconscious.

Nothing happened.

Castiel placed his whole hand on the man’s forehead, attempting to smite him. Still nothing. The man was able to bat Castiel’s arm away with almost no force at all.

“I’m going to finish this call. Then I’m going to stab you.”

Castiel walked away quickly, certain that if the man was true to his word, a stab wound would be far more dangerous than usual.

His fears were confirmed: Metatron had been successful. Castiel was not just fallen, but human.

There was a young brown-haired woman standing directly behind him, apparently waiting for him, for when he turned she spoke immediately.

“I know you.” She sounded awed and a little desperate. Castiel wondered if perhaps she had known Jimmy, as he had no memory of her. She could also simply be confused. Either way, he had no time for her.

“I don’t think so.”

“Castiel!” He stopped, shocked.

“We met in heaven,” the girl explained. “My name is Hael.”

Castiel’s face lit up in recognition. “You’re an angel.”

Hael’s face grew sad and fearful. “Am I?” she whispered, shaking her head. “What’s an angel without its wings?”

* * *

Dean leaned against the window frame in the hospital room as he watched Sam sleep. At least, that’s what he told himself he was doing. He tried to pretend that he wasn’t watching helplessly while Sam’s mind crawled towards death and his body lay useless in a hospital bed, connected to machines that showed that he hadn’t fallen away just yet.

Part of Dean wondered if the sacrifice had been worth it. The other part knew that the thought itself was selfish at its core. Hell had been closed. Surely whatever cost had been paid to make it happen had to be worth it. But as he watched Sam slip slowly away from him, he doubted it.

His only hope at the moment was that one of the fallen angels had heard his prayer and was coming to help him. A possibility that was looking less and less likely by the second.

No sooner had he thought that than a woman appeared in the doorway. She looked annoyingly optimistic, with bouncy waves in her dark hair and a face-cracking smile.

“Hi,” Dean said, standing up straight. “I’m just gonna break the ice.  Are you an angel?” He tried to make the question sound as much like a joke as possible.

“Sometimes I wish I were,” the woman said, her smile still much too big for the situation. She reached a hand out to Dean as she entered the room. He shook it as she introduced herself. “My name is Kim Schortz, and I’m a grief counselor here at the hospital.”

Great, just what he needed. A shrink.

“Right. Yeah. Uh…,” he trailed off, unsure what the best technique for getting out of grief counseling was. “Sorry. I’m just tired. Well, all due respect, but, uh, I’m not grieving - not yet at least, so -” He let the sentence hang, the “so you can leave” implied.

“I’m afraid, as hard this may be, this might be a good time to talk…” She looked over at Sam’s sleeping body, “about the inevitable.”

Dean didn't want to be angry. He was so tired of being angry and vengeful and stuck.

“Look, I’m sure you’re a nice person and that you mean well, but ‘inevitable’?” He shook his head. “That’s a fightin’ word where I come from. There is always a way.” He hoped the conversation would end there. Dean had had enough of other people’s expectations for him.

“And I am a prayerful woman who believes in miracles as much as the next, but I also know how to read an EEG.” Dean felt the sting of his lack of knowledge again. “And unless you're telling me you have a direct line to those angels that you were looking for -”

“I don’t,”  he interrupted, still trying to cut the talk short. Locking gazes with Kim, he continued. “I know I don’t. But I’m not giving up on him because he wouldn't give up on me.” He looked back at Sammy. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do - really. But somewhere in this hospital there is someone who needs you more than me right now. And if-” Dean made sure to use the right condition, “-I ever need to finish this conversation, I’ll come find you. Deal?”

Kim looked doubtful. Dean knew what he was asking went against her nature, but he couldn't have the when-Sam-dies chat now, especially not with a stranger.

“Deal,” she finally consented, eyes still watching him closely, trying to figure him out. She turned to leave the room, pausing briefly to say one last thing. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Daugherty. Your brother is lucky to have you.”

Dean hated to leave Sammy alone in that awful hospital room, but he needed some space to cool down after that awful conversation. Of course, his usual go-to method would be to down as much liquor as possible until everything went fuzzy in his head. But as much as he hated to admit it, there was a time and a place for that sort of reaction, and this wasn’t it. He needed to be lucid as long as his brother was still in danger.

So he took the next best option, taking the Impala out of the parking garage and just driving, with no idea where he was going. It was as close as he could get to just leaving everything behind. For someone who spent as much time in their car as Dean did, it was strange that he wasn’t sick of it yet. Really, in times like these, driving his baby around was the only thing that made him feel in control.

He couldn't go far, needing to stay within the city limits so he could get back to Sam soon. Luckily, the area was rural enough that it was only minutes before city streets were replaced by open road.

Dean truly didn't have a destination in mind. Really, he didn't. This situation was all kinds of fucked up, but he had learned from his past – drastic decisions rarely did you any good in the long run. He was desperate, but he wasn’t planning on _doing_ anything desperate. So if he happened to end up at a crossroads…well, coincidences did happen, and this was just one of them.

And as long as he was already there, well, what was the harm in trying? Sam had completed the trials, after all; all the demons were locked up, back in hell where they belonged. If Dean was to bury a demon-summoning spell in the center of the intersection, no harm could come of it anyway. And he should make sure, just in case, that the trials had worked. That’s all this was, an experiment.

It wasn’t until a demon really didn't show that Dean realized (or perhaps just accepted) how much he’d been hoping one would.

Suddenly very, very tired, Dean crashed against the Impala, closing his eyes. He hadn’t felt this hopeless in a long time.

That was it, then. No Cas, no demons…either Sam got better on his own, with the “help” of the pitiful doctors at the hospital…or he didn't.

Dean snapped out of this horribly depressing train of thought when he felt the sudden, unexpected weight of a hand on his shoulder.

He spun around and grabbed the figure beside him, slamming it into the side of the Impala. He pulled his demon knife from his coat almost without thinking, pressing it against the man’s throat.

The guy was around Dean’s height, average looking with short hair and a noticeable lack of red or black eyes – but that didn't mean anything. He was breathing heavily for some reason, and looked exhausted, which was weird.

“Are you a demon?” Dean barked at him.

“A demon? No. I am an angel. I heard your plea for help. I was injured in the fall, but I was able to use some of my remaining power to respond to your call.” Dean was pretty good at detecting lies. Either this guy was the best actor ever, or he was telling the truth.

An angel should have been preferable to a demon, but if Dean had learned one thing in the years since Cas had raised him from hell, it was to never trust an angel. Angels were dicks. Demons at least could be counted on to keep their deals. Dean wasn’t trusting this guy until he at least had some idea of who he was.

“Who are you?” he demanded. The angel seemed unwilling to answer, which wasn’t the best of signs.

“Never mind me. You’re Dean Winchester. I heard your prayer. And I am here to help.”

Before Dean had a chance to interrogate him anymore, the guy passed out cold and slid to the ground.

* * *

If there was anything worth stopping Castiel’s efforts to contact Dean, it was another angel’s need for help - especially one who had never had any ill will towards him. Seeing the desperation on Hael’s face filled Castiel with a powerful sensation of familial protectiveness, and of course guilt, as he was the cause of her suffering. He knew that he had no justification for leaving her, and he did not want to.

He guided her a ways away from the angry man still using the telephone - Castiel did not trust him not to make good on his promise of stabbing. They sat beside each other on the low cement curb next to the gas pumps.

“Hael, can you tell me...what happened, in heaven? To the other angels?”

“It was a normal day, and then just...dark.” Her face grew distant and sad, and she took a deep breath to compose herself. “And then I was just...falling. How could that happen?”

Castiel just shook his head. He knew that Hael was one of the kinder, more peaceful angels, perhaps more given to sympathize with his situation than others would be, but he still did not want to risk revealing his role. “I don’t know.”

Hael showed no suspicion at his words, but she gave him a speculative look. Something about her gaze suggested she was not looking at his vessel.

“Your grace, it’s...gone?”

It was nothing Castiel has not already figured out, but it saddened him to hear it nonetheless.

“I do still hear angel radio, though.”

“Then you've heard them. Our brothers and sisters. Many still circling for vessels, most just so afraid.” Her voice trembled with the same fear.

Castiel relaxed with the shift in conversation; this fear, at least, was something that he could help with.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. I can assure you.”

Hael’s gaze locked onto the sky, her expression longing.

“But, heaven, there was order, there was purpose.”

“Well, believe it or not, there may be something even better down here.”

“I don’t understand.”

Cas shifted, subconsciously sitting taller. When he spoke, his voice rang with emotion and confidence.

“There’s opportunity for you, others who've fallen, to finally...do what you would like to do. Not just what you've been told.”

From the look on Hael’s face, he may as well have been speaking gibberish at her. “And what would I like to do?”

Cas couldn't help but smile at her confusion; he remembered how difficult it had been for him to get used to the idea of free will, of wanting things for himself. Just a few short years ago, but it seemed like lifetimes.

“Well, you tell me. If you could do anything, what would it be?” He looked at her expectantly.

\---

If she could do anything? The question was bizarre, completely foreign to Hael. In all the years of her existence, she had done only one thing: followed the orders given to her by Heaven, fulfilled her duties as instructed. She had never been dissatisfied with it; it was what she had been created to do and she knew no other way. How was she supposed to want anything else?

But perhaps...some of her orders, many years ago, when Earth was young, had been to build things. To create beauty and wonders, to help craft the planet from something simple to something inspirational. There had been one place she had been especially proud of, but after finishing, she had never visited it again…

“There’s a place. I built it when I was last here, many years ago. A grand canyon.”

“The, Grand Canyon, yes.” Castiel sounded amused, but also awed. Hael realized he must recognize the name and was impressed. The Grand Canyon, he said. Had her work been successful?

Hael felt a thrill of something unfamiliar. It was emotion; it was joy.

“I- I would like to see that.”

“Let’s go see the Grand Canyon, then.”

Hael smiled.


	2. I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here, pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam continues to struggle with the choice and life and Death. Dean fights for Sam with the help of "Ezekiel." Castiel's interactions with Hael take a new and original turn. Sam makes a new choice, and Gadreel's true intent is revealed to be not what you think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to chapter 2, and congrats for making it through transcription-heavy part 1. As thanks, here's something exciting - not one, but TWO major plot points of this story are introduced in this chapter. There is definitely a lot more new stuff in here than in chapter 1.

While the angel, or whatever he was, was unconscious, Dean found a deserted warehouse where he could interrogate him. Inside, he lit a large ring of holy fire around the angel and waited for him to wake up.

It took only a few minutes for the angel to stir, moaning in pain.

Dean got right to the point. “You want to help?” he demanded. “Start with a name.”

“Ezekiel,” the angel answered after a slight hesitation.

“Alright, Ezekiel. How do I know you’re not hunting me or Castiel?”

“Oh, I’m sure there are many who are. Many more are on their way here, most likely.”

That was not the answer Dean had been looking for.

“How do you know that?”

“You put out an open prayer like that...”

“I must really be desperate.” And apparently the prayer had only made the situation worse. A stray angel or two he could handle, but many? He had no chance.

Ezekiel stood in the middle of the ring and looked Dean in the eye. “Believe it or not, some of us still do believe in our mission. And that means we believe in Castiel. And you.”

Finding an angel that still believed in Cas seemed pretty unlikely. The last Dean had heard, even the guy’s own garrison gave up on him, and Naomi only used him after brainwashing him beyond recognition.

“You said you were hurt during the fall.”

“I was. And coming out to intercept you did me no favors. But what strength I have left, I offer to you,” Ezekiel answered.

The offer was complete and unconditional, and Dean didn’t want to trust it. It just didn’t make sense that some random angel who he’d never even heard of would do something like that. But he couldn’t detect anything but honesty on Ezekiel’s face, and Sam...Sam needed his help. As long as Cas was still MIA, this was his only option.

“Alright, Ezekiel, here’s the deal. My brother, Sam, he’s, uh, he’s hurt. He tried to complete these trials, to close all the demons in hell, and he did it. It worked, or at least it did as far as I can tell, but…it’s killing him.”

Ezekiel almost looked sympathetic, which was extremely weird - Dean wasn’t used to that kind of response from any angel other than Cas.

“The doctors can’t do anything. Either you heal him, or he dies. So...can you do it?”

“Yes, Dean,” Ezekiel promised. “I will heal your brother.”

* * *

Sam and Bobby walked down the path in the forest, meandering through trees that grew neither denser nor thinner. They had been walking for some time, but Bobby said nothing. Left to his thoughts for the first time since he had found out about his condition, Sam tried to make a decision between life and death.

One part of him still wanted to fight like his brother begged him to. Backing down wasn’t in his nature, and over the past few years fighting against death had become almost his default setting. This situation was nothing new, so there was no reason the outcome should be. He didn’t want to die.

But it would be easy; he had chosen it before, risked his life without even weighing the consequences. There was time to consider now, and he knew he was dying for a worthy cause. He had achieved what should have been his final purpose, and he was ready to let go. He wasn’t up for another fight, and he wasn’t even sure how to begin clawing his way back from death this time. And so much had changed in the past year or two...what did he even have left waiting for him in life, other than his brother, who deserved so much more?

The path took a sharp left.

“I want to fight. I do,” Sam spoke, breaking the silence. “But I just feel like…” He faded off. How did he even begin to explain that he felt like he didn’t know who he would be saving when he saved himself?

“Like you got nothing to swing at?” Bobby provided for him. “Like you’re punching at shadows? You got to let go of fightin’ and scratchin’ and lookin’ for loopholes, ‘cause that ain’t happenin’.”

There it was, the counterargument to all of Dean’s fighting talk that Sam had been waiting for.

“So - so what?” Sam stopped walking down the path, turning to face Bobby. “I- I- I just die?”  

“Just die?” Bobby looked shocked that Sam could think that. “All the good you’ve done, all the people you’ve saved, all the sacrifices you’ve made?” He shook his head. “You’ve saved the world, son. How many people can say that? How many people can say that they have left this godforsaken hunk of dirt that much better of a place? What you call dyin’, I call leavin’ a legacy.”

* * *

Back in the hospital room, Sam’s condition hadn’t changed. Dean still couldn’t stand to look at him without feeling like some sort of monster was clawing out his his heart. But there was no way he’d look away while a stranger was using angel mojo on his baby brother.

Ezekiel walked over to Sam and laid a hand on his chest, but didn’t appear to be doing anything. Sam didn’t move; the obnoxious beeping of the machines didn’t change. Dean looked away from Sam up at Ezekiel, nervous about what the pause meant.

“You still able to cure things after the fall?”

“Yes, I should be, but...he’s so weak.”

Dean’s cell phone rang, the shrill noise cutting the tension in the room.

\---

Seeing Hael’s face light up when she mentioned her Grand Canyon made Cas feel happier than he had in a long time. It even eased some of his guilt - he had made a mistake when he caused the angels to fall, but that did not mean it had to be a bad thing. Maybe learning from humanity first hand was what his brothers and sisters needed.

Cas wished they could leave immediately, but he still needed to contact Dean, and that was far more urgent. After ensuring his friends were all right, then they would go.

When the angry man with the motorcycle finally left, Cas went to go make his call. As he dialed Dean’s cell phone number and waited for the call to go through, he couldn’t help but feel nervous. When he had parted with Dean, they had only barely begun to resolve the conflict between them following Cas’s flight from the crypt. Now he had betrayed Dean yet again by ignoring his warnings and listening to Metatron, only to find out it had been the wrong decision once more. There was every chance that Dean would want nothing to do with him, but Cas knew from past experiences that hiding mistakes from his friend was never the correct thing to do.

Despite his fears, when Dean picked up after just a few seconds with a confused “Who is this?”, all Castiel felt was relief.

“Dean!”

“Cas, what the hell is going on?” Dean did not sound angry, but rather as relieved as Cas was, though with an undertone of stress.         

“Metatron tricked me. It wasn’t angel trials, it was a spell. I wanted you to know that.”

“Okay, well, that’s great, but we got ourselves a problem,” Dean replied distractedly.

“What’s wrong?”

“Sam. He’s, um…they say he’s dying.” Dean’s voice was shaky.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know, I mean, first he was okay and then he wasn’t, and I- have you heard my prayers? I’ve been praying to you all night!”

“Dean. Metatron, he…he took my grace.” Cas almost felt guilty bringing it up, clearly Sam’s issue was more important.

“What?!”

“Don’t worry about me!” Cas hastened to reassure him. “What are you doing for Sam?”

“Um, everything I can, there’s actually another angel in there workin’ on him right now.”

This piqued Castiel’s concern. Most other angels did not think very highly of the Winchesters and were more likely to harm than help. “What other angel?”

“Um, his name is Ezekiel. He’s cool, I mean I think he is.”

“Ezekiel.” That was all right then. Castiel remembered Ezekiel. They had not been close, as brothers or as soldiers of Heaven, but he had a reputation for being one of the kinder, more rational angels, and he had always fought well. “Yes. He’s a good soldier. He should be able to help until I get there.”

“Wait, no no no. No, hey, that’s not an option.”

Castiel was confused by this; obviously if Sam was hurt Dean needed Cas there, even if his healing powers were currently cut off. “It might be a few days, but-“

“Hey! Cas, listen to me. There are angels out there, okay, and they- they’re looking for you, and they are pissed.”

Cas was touched by Dean’s concern, but it was irrational; there was no need for him to worry.

“Not all of them, Dean. Some are just looking for direction. Some are just lost.” He looked over at Hael, who was waiting patiently a few feet away.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve met one. I think I can help her, Dean.”

“No, Cas…I know you want to help, okay, I do, but helpin’ angels is what got you in trouble in the first place!” Dean replied harshly. “Now I’m begging you for once look out for yourself! Until we figure out what the hell is going on, trust nobody!”

Cas knew Dean’s advice was well intended, but he also knew years of too much responsibility meant Dean’s responses to stress tended to verge on overprotective. Castiel may be human now, but he knew how to handle himself.

“And do what? Just abandon them all?”

“Damn it, Cas, are you hearing yourself? There’s a war on and it’s on you! There’s thousands of them out there!” Dean paused, took a quick breath to calm himself down slightly. “You said you lost your grace, right? That means you’re human. That means you bleed, and you eat and you sleep and all the things you never had to worry about before!”

“I’m fine, Dean.” Cas rolled his eyes though he knew Dean couldn’t see.

“Look, get your ass to the bunker. Alone, you hear me?”

“Dean-”

“Go, Cas!”

“Dean!” Cas’s protests did nothing. The call cut off and Dean was gone.

\---

Hael stood by the side of an old shed near the pay phone where Castiel was speaking to his friend. She maintained a neutral expression, though on the inside she was excited about this chance to finally visit her creation. She only wished her wings were working better so they could fly there; driving in a car sounded slow, confining, and uncomfortable, and Castiel had assured her it was exactly that.

Her earlier fears about her fall were still there, but subdued. Having Castiel was a great comfort. Not only was she no longer left to face the uncertain future alone, but she was with one who knew from his own experience how to survive in such a situation. She was certain that everything would turn out all right now.

Over at the phone, Castiel hung up. To Hael’s surprise, he did not seem to have been comforted by the call. He wore a look of sadness and frustration that only deepened as he walked over.

“Hael, I’m afraid I have some bad news. I won’t be able to go to the Grand Canyon with you.”

“What do you mean?” He could not do this to her, he had promised!

“Something has come up,” Castiel answered guiltily. “I need to go see my friend. It has become necessary that you and I part ways.”

Hael was disappointed to hear that they would not be visiting her canyon, but this was no reason for them to part. No matter what she wanted to do, she needed Castiel.

“I don’t understand. I’ll come with you. We can see your friend together.”

“It’s complicated. There could be trouble. It’s - it’s best if I go alone. My - my friend, he...needs my help.”

“I need help!” Hael could not let Castiel leave, she had to persuade him somehow…

Castiel’s face took on a look of pity.

“You can do this, Hael. This is your chance. To help people. Help yourself.”

Anger was not a feeling Hael was very familiar with, but she felt it now. Who did Castiel think he was, talking about chances? She had helped people, in Heaven, and now she was stuck here, powerless, inside a rotting vessel, in need of help herself. And he was just going to leave her?

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said as he began to walk away.

Without even thinking about it, Hael spun around, grabbing a board of wood from a pile just behind her. She swung it it the air with some difficulty, crashing it gracelessly into the back of Castiel’s head. He collapsed in an unconscious heap on the ground.

Hael could hardly believe what she had just done. Such an act of violence was entirely out of character for her. But but she was desperate, and the action had served its purpose - Castiel was not going anywhere.

* * *

After hanging up on Cas, Dean returned to the room, where Ezekiel still hadn’t made any progress with Sam. At Ezekiel’s explanation that he felt unsafe, using his powers like this where an angel could easily find him, Dean snagged a marker from the whiteboard on the wall and coated the walls and door with most of the angel wards Cas had taught him.

“Long as these are up, no angels are comin’ in,” he assured Ezekiel when he was finished. “No one’s coming out. You okay with these?” Dean knew some wards could limit an angel’s power, but he had left out any he remembered affecting Cas that way.

“I’ll manage,” Ezekiel answered, but he didn’t look at all relaxed by the protection. His gaze unfocused, head tilted as though listening to something, and his face grew alarmed.

“What?” Dean asked.

“They’re nearly here. The wards have granted us some time, but...it won’t be long.”

Dean thought fast. He needed to cause a distraction, buy them more time for Ezekiel to heal Sam.

“Okay. Don’t open this door for anyone but me!” he shouted as he ran from the room. “Save him, you hear me?”

Dean ran down the hall until he spotted a fire alarm. He pulled it, and as people hurried out of the building, he headed down another hall, scrawling more wards on the walls as he went.

* * *

When Castiel woke, Hael was in the driver’s seat of her vessel's car. The gas station was far behind, and the only sign of civilization was the otherwise-empty road.

Hael couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty as she watched the former angel wince and rub at the bruises on the back of his head. However, her guilt for hurting Castiel had diminished a great deal after she had heard a rather incriminating rumor about him through her connection with the rest of the Host.

“You understand that I couldn’t just let you leave,” she said to Castiel when he focused on her. “I’d be lost without you, Castiel.”

“Yes, I’m...beginning to see that.”

“It’s true, what they’re saying on - angel radio, you called it? This is all your fault, isn’t it? Making the angels fall?”

The horrified look on Castiel’s face was answer enough.

“So,” Hael continued, “we’ll drive to the Grand Canyon. You’ll tell me more about humans. And then...we’re going to become one, Castiel.

“You want to possess me.”

“Your vessel is strong. This one won’t hold me much longer.” Hael pulled down the collar of her vessel’s dress to reveal a spreading burn on her collarbone.

“You should have told me your vessel was so weak.”

“What good would it have done? You still would have attempted to leave me for your friend.

“Think about it, Castiel. Is this truly so bad? I could kill you for your crimes against our kind, but I will not. I am not cruel. Instead, I will provide you with protection against the others who will try, and in return, you will allow me to remain in a vessel and share your knowledge of being human. I think, with the two of us working together, I could truly learn to like it here.”

* * *

The path went on through the forest. Sam couldn’t tell how much time had passed; the light falling through the treetops didn’t change. Bobby was walking next to him. They rounded a corner, and Sam saw a cabin that hadn’t been there before.

“There it is,” Bobby said. Sam continued walking for a few steps before realizing Bobby had stopped. “Everything inside you need to help you on your way.”  He motioned for Sam to keep walking without him.  “Go on, son.  I’ll be waiting for you with a couple of cold ones.”

Sam looked at the cabin. He thought of all the people he could have known better, all the ones he didn’t know long enough. He wondered if Jess or Jo or Ellen or his mother could be inside.

Sam turned back to say goodbye and saw Dean appear from behind a tree. He couldn’t figure out why his mind would have put his brother in this scene.  Then he saw the glint of the sun off of the steel of a knife.  He watched Dean push the knife through Bobby’s chest, helpless in his surprise.

Bobby fell to his knees, the knife still protruding, his breaths making gurgling sounds. He clawed helplessly at his body, and his hands came away from his shirt stained crimson.  When he coughed, blood flew across the ground.  He fell to his side. The gurgling and coughing continued. One last labored breath rattled, and the bubbling stopped as a stream of blood leaked from his mouth.

The body, the blood, and the knife all faded away.

“Sorry, old man,” Dean said sincerely. Sam looked at him in petrified silence. Dean’s eyes were wet as he stepped towards him, into the spot Bobby had been a moment before.

“Dean, are you insane?!” Sam found his voice, taking a step towards his brother.

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean pleaded.  “Bobby was the part of you that wants to die.  I know it stings, but he had to go.

Sam wasn’t sure what to think. The real Dean would never have stabbed Bobby; not for anything.

But that wasn’t true.  In this place in his mind, Dean saw Bobby as a threat on his life.  If it had been reality, what would have stopped him from delivering the same fate?  Hadn’t Dean killed those Sam loved in order to protect him before?  Hadn’t he left those he loved himself?  As long as Sam was in the picture, Dean would keep making decisions that hurt them both.

“No,” Sam said.  “You have to go.  When are you going to realize it’s over?!  There’s nothing to fight for!”  Sam didn’t know if he was talking to Dean or to himself in that moment, but it didn’t really matter.  Both of them had to let go of the worthless fight to stay alive.

“No, see, I know you don’t believe that.”  Dean looked like he had been slapped and was coming back for blood.

“Really?  Then what’s your plan, Dean?”  Sam spit the words out at his brother, hoping they would send him reeling like bullets.

“My plan?”  Dean asked like he couldn’t believe the question.

Before Sam could respond, a fist came into contact with his jaw.  Dazed, he realized that it had been Dean’s.

“My plan is to fight!”  Dean shouted as he pushed Sam backwards, not giving him a chance to recover from the punch. “My plan is to try.  My plan-,” his fist hit Sam in the face again, “-is to give a damn!”

Sam stumbled, but Dean grabbed him by the front of his jacket.  This close, he could see the angry, desperate, hurt glint of his brother’s eyes.

Jaw clenched tight, Dean asked, “Are you telling me there’s nothing?”  When Sam didn’t answer, he shook him.  “Huh? You telling me there’s nothing to fight for, that there’s nothing to hope for?”

“No,”  Sam answered, locking gazes with his brother. “I’m telling you there is.  You might not like it.  You might not accept it, but it’s in there.  It’s in that house.”

“You know what’s in that house!” Dean shouted with a high voice, shaking Sam. He took a shallow breath and in a quiet and more urgent tone he said,  “Now, I can’t help you if you ain’t willing to fight for yourself!”

“I know,” Sam admitted.  He put his hands on Dean’s arms, pushing them away.  Dean recoiled, as if he didn’t realize his hands had been gripping onto his jacket.  “It’s okay.  It’s what I want.”

Reaching out with a finger, Sam tapped Dean’s cheek twice.  He faded away, his desperate expression lingering in the air.  Sam didn’t know how he knew that the action would work.

Left to himself, he thought on everything he had experienced.  In that cabin was something that could give him answers -be it a reaper or a ghost or a memory.  Bobby had said it would be all he needed, and he believed him.

Taking a deep breath, he turned away from the spot where he had watched Bobby and Dean fade, and towards the cabin.

* * *

Dean burst back into the room, finished with warding the floor. Ezekiel sat in the visitor’s chair next to Sam’s bed, looking at Dean’s brother with a resigned expression on his face. He didn’t seem to have done anything during Dean’s absence, and Sam’s condition must have been getting worse, because the machines were blaring their alarms.

Dean wasn’t sure what exactly was going on. He knew what those alarms meant - Sam was dying, not like moving-towards-the-inevitable dying, but right-this-moment dying, so why the hell was Zeke just sitting there?

“What the hell’s happening?”

When Ezekiel spoke, his voice was slow, like he was struggling to breathe.

“This just started,” he responded, nodded towards the screaming machines. “And the warding. I’m afraid I’m weaker than I thought.”

Damnit. Dean knew the warding would cause a problem. He was so stupid, he must have forgotten to leave off one of the strong ones, or maybe he never even knew how strong they all were. He started crossing out the sigils as fast as he could.

“I am sorry, Dean,” said Ezekiel hopelessly.

“No. No, no, no.” This angel was Sam’s only hope, he couldn’t give up, not now. “No, we had a deal, okay, I fight, you save!”

“And would that I could. I’m just afraid it’s too late.”

“Are you kidding me? Are you saying there’s no way to save my brother’s life?”

Ezekiel lowered his head, breaking Dean’s gaze. “No good ones, I’m afraid,” he replied as if he were ashamed of even bringing it up.

Dean was beyond caring, at this point, about the difference between good and bad. He had come too far to let Sam down now. “Well what are the bad ones? We’re out of options, here, man, good or bad, let me hear ‘em!”

“I cannot promise...but there is a chance I can fix your brother. From the inside.”

“From the inside...so, what, you gonna open him up?”

Ezekiel shook his head.

“What, possession? You want to possess Sam?” If that was the only way, it was done. Sam would never give his permission.

“I told you -” Ezekiel began.

“No way.”

“Understood. It’s your call.”

It wasn’t, though, and that was the problem. If it was up to Dean, Ezekiel would have been in Sam already. “No, it’s Sam’s call. There’s no way in hell he’d say yes to being possessed by anything.”

“He would rather die,” Ezekiel pointed out.

Dean laughed humorlessly, remembering back to a few years ago, during the apocalypse, when that had been something the brothers said to each other with regularity. He never thought he’d have to watch Sam take it so literally.

Ezekiel stood slowly and waved an arm, silencing the harsh noise of the machines. He looked at Dean with pity. “I’ll leave you two alone then.”

Dean couldn’t - actually, physically couldn’t - let him walk out the door.

“Wait.”

Ezekiel paused and waited patiently for Dean to speak. “There’s not much time,” he urged when Dean stayed silent.

“I know. Damnit, I know.” He shouldn’t do this, he really shouldn’t. Sam was a grown man who deserved to be taken seriously, not his kid brother anymore, and if there was one thing he might never forgive Dean for doing to him, it was this. But Dean couldn’t watch his brother die while there was a solution right in front of him. It would kill him.

Maybe if Cas was here, or Kevin, or someone, they could talk him out of it. But he was alone, it was his call, and when it came to his brother he was never going to be able to do the right thing.

“Do it,” he said.

Ezekiel moved back to the side of the bed, and Dean shifted out of his way.

“How will it work?” he asked as Ezekiel prepared himself.

“Mutual benefit, I suppose. I heal Sam while healing myself.”

“And when he’s healed?” Doing this was going to leave Ezekiel without a vessel - what if he expected to share Sam’s body even after he was better?

“I leave,” Ezekiel reassured him. “It’s the best of a bad situation, Dean.”

“Even though I say yes, it doesn’t mean squat. Sam’ll never say yes, not to you.”

“Don’t worry about that. I will persuade him.”

* * *

Castiel felt sorry for Hael. He remembered what it felt like to fall, to be left nearly powerless with little idea of how to navigate in a human world. He did not envy anyone having to experience it alone. And so he understood Hael’s desperation and her reasons for kidnapping him. But he could not agree to her request. Sam and Dean needed his help.

There was no way to physically overpower Hael while trapped in this small space. Cas had the upper hand in terms of strength, but Hael had her angel blade.

There was only one option, then.

Cas reached for his seatbelt and clicked it into place. Then he reached across the car, tore the wheel from Hael’s hands, and drove off the road.

Everything went black. Again.

\---

When Cas came to, he was slumped over in his seat and his head was throbbing. The front of the car had been smashed when it crashed into a tree, and the windshield was shattered. Thankfully, Cas’s body had escaped a similar fate. His muscles protested as he climbed out of the car, but he was able to walk around to the other side with little difficulty.

In the driver’s seat, Hael was beginning to stir. Before she could regain full awareness, Cas grabbed the angel blade from her lap and then hauled her out of the car and onto the ground a few feet away. She made a startled noise and attempted to lunge at him, but he held the blade up to her throat and pushed her down again.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Cas tried to convince her. “I didn’t want to hurt any of them. I want to help you. I will devote my life to helping you all. But I cannot do that if I let you take me as your vessel.”

Hael glared at him in disbelief.

“Help angels? After what you did? You sacrificed your grace so that they would fall. They don’t want your help, Castiel, they want your head.”

Castiel was shocked at this accusation.  
“You think that I chose this? Hael, you’re wrong. My grace was stolen from me. Metatron stole it from me, to complete a spell. The angels falling, the gates of heaven closing...all of this was his doing.”

For a moment, Hael looked as though she were reconsidering her actions. Then her expression hardened again.

“Even if that were true, and I’m not certain that it is...I’m sorry, but it changes nothing. This is still your fault. I still require a vessel.”

“Hael, please. My friends, the Winchesters - you’ve heard of them, I’m sure - they can fix this. They have a prophet working with them, they can find a way to send the angels back to heaven. You know that they have solved problems far greater in scale than this before. But they need my help to do it.”

“So, what? I let you go, and you leave me here to suffer while you and your human friends look for a solution that may exist?”

Castiel was stuck. Hael was right, it was not fair to her - especially since it truly was his fault that she was in this situation. But he needed to get back to Dean, and he had been explicitly instructed to come alone.

Well, Castiel supposed, this wouldn’t be the first time he had ignored instructions from Dean. His friend often proved to have made the right call in many situations, but this was one decision Cas felt he was truly more qualified to make.

“Hael, I’m sorry that I tried to leave you before. I know how terrifying falling can be, and I should have anticipated that you would panic. Dean did not want me to bring you along. He feared that you would pose a danger to me, and in a way he was right. But I am willing to give you a second chance, and to ignore what he said. Come with me. Please.”

“What of my vessel? I told you, this girl will not hold me for much longer.”

“She will hold for the time it takes for us to reach the Winchesters’ home. When we arrive, they will help you find a new vessel. You and I can learn to be human together. We can help the Winchesters put the angels back in heaven. And when this is all over, I promise you, I will take you to see your Grand Canyon. All right?”

Castiel watched Hael, waiting patiently for her decision.

“All right,” she finally said. “I will go with you.”

* * *

Sam nudged the cabin door open and crept in. He had only a vague idea about what was waiting for him inside, and despite having committed to his decision, he was still second-guessing himself.

Standing by a fireplace was what could only be his reaper. The man was was tall and dressed in a black suit. He stood facing the flames, watching them dance.

Sam amused himself with the thought that the entire scene was occurring only in his head. This cabin, those flames, and this meeting would go unknown to everyone else.

The man by the fireplace turned, and Sam was shocked by who he saw before him.

"Hello, Sam," Death said, his voice as cool and debonair as always. "I've been waiting for you."

"Why are you here?" Sam asked. "Where's my reaper? The door? The light at the end of the tunnel?"

"Why don't you take a seat?" Death gestured to an armchair, moving to another opposite it. Confused, Sam took the seat and waited.

"I must admit," Death began, leaning forward in his seat, "when I heard it was you- well, I had to come myself." He gave a small grin.

Sam scoffed. "I bet you get off on this." He resented the intrusion into what he had hoped would be a simple moment. Even now, mind made up and prepared to carry out the choice, he was being interrupted by his past.

"Perhaps. But not in the way you assume. I consider it to be quite the honor to be collecting the likes of Sam Winchester." Sam gave a small smile, but the memories of all he had done to try to escape that name pained him. Who he was had brought him misery more than it had ever brought him honor. He had killed or pushed away everything he wanted and loved.

As if reading his thoughts, Death continued. "I try so hard not to pass judgment at times like this – not my bag, you see, but you..." Death reclined in his chair. "Well played, my boy."

Sam tried not to let his thoughts show. He heard Death's congratulations, but he couldn't bring himself to stomach it. Sure, he had saved people. But for everyone he saved, had he not endangered or killed another? He had freed Lucifer from the cage and put the world in jeopardy. His own brother had been dragged to hell because of his decisions. Jessica and many others had died because of him. There were no words to convince him that he had done anything besides hurt those around him, which was why he couldn't go back again.

"I need to know one thing." Sam looked Death in the eye, appealing for his honesty.

"Yes?"

Sam could detect no sign of betrayal in the crinkled face of the horseman.

"If I go with you…," he started, "can you promise that this time it will be final? That if I'm dead, I stay dead. Nobody can reverse it, nobody can deal it away... and nobody else can get hurt because of me." His mind was swirling with faces and voices; all the innocent people who had been hurt because of him; all the lives Death had collected.

Without even taking a moment, Death replied, "I can promise that."

Sam let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding in. The flames crackled in the fireplace as he mulled over his decision for one last time.  Choosing to go with Death right now would really be the end.  The story of the Winchester boys would end with one slamming shut the gates of hell.  He wondered if this is how the The Winchester Gospel was always meant to end.

Death stood up, smoothing out wrinkles in his suit that Sam couldn’t see and taking the time to straighten his tie before turning his gaze.  “It’s time, Sam.”  He gestured to the door from which he had entered.  “Shall we?”

Sam stood up from his chair and turned towards the door.  Death must have seen doubt on his face.  “Are you sure this is what you want?  Once you go through that door there is no going back.  I keep my word.”

“Yes.  I’m sure.”  Sam began to walk towards the door.

A sudden pain in his mid-back made him stop in his tracks.  Breathing became difficult and his head swam as he fell to his knees.  His eyesight was darkening, splotches of black across his consciousness.

He heard a chuckling before a new face leered over him.

“You Winchesters are much too trusting,” the brown-haired man tutted as he touched his cheek.  “I’ll send Dean your regards.  After all, this is what you wanted.”

Sam didn’t have time to register the words as he rushed along a dark tunnel away from the scene.  His last thought was as to what happened when you died in your mind.

* * *

Being inside of Sam Winchester felt powerful. He was damaged quite severely; there was a lot of work to be done before the body would be back to full strength. Even so, it resonated with power. The vessel of one of the most powerful angels of all time had no no trouble accommodating Gadreel’s weakened grace.

Sam Winchester himself was tucked away into a tiny corner of the brain, clinging by a thread. His mind and soul were dormant - he believed himself to be dead, and might as well have been for all he was doing.

There was no purpose for Gadreel to keep him there at all. He could easily shove the tired, battered soul away and take full control of the body. But he was not cruel. Sam was at peace, and Gadreel would not cause Dean needless suffering with the loss of his brother. Leaving Sam’s soul where it was would enable Gadreel to access his memories and disguise himself while he bided his time and waited to discover a purpose. He just had to ensure that Dean remained in the dark about his brother’s true condition. The man was not outwardly sophisticated, but Gadreel could tell his intelligence was not to be underestimated.

He was walking with Dean now, in the courtyard outside of the hospital. It was bright and sunny, and the sky was cloudless - a sharp contrast to the mood of the day.

“So? How’s it look in there?” Dean enquired.

“Not good,” Gadreel answered honestly. “There is much work to be done.”

“Yeah, but he’s gonna wake up, right?”

“He will.” He would not, but Gadreel do his best to create that impression.

“So when he does, what, is he gonna feel you inside triaging his spleen?”

“He will not feel me, no. There is no reason for Sam to know I am in here at all.”

Given Sam’s intense aversion to being possessed, Gadreel expected Dean to accept this without question, but he rather appeared shocked at the suggestion.

“You’re joking. No, this is - this is too big.”

“And what will he do if you tell him he is possessed by an angel?” Gadreel needed to convince Dean not to tell “Sam” - it would be easier to pretend that way. If the real Sam did know, he would eject Gadreel on the spot. That was not something that could be faked.

“Well, he’ll have to understand,” Dean responded.

“And if he does not? Without his acceptance, Sam can eject me at any time, especially with me so weak. And if Sam does eject me, he will die.”

Dean’s face turned grim, and he nodded.

“Then we keep it a secret for now. Or until Sam’s well enough that he doesn’t need an angelic pacemaker, or I find a way to tell him, I- I...As for him bein’ in a hospital, I’ll have to figure something out.”

“I can erase it all if you like. He will not remember any of this.”

* * *

After Dean agreed to let Ezekiel erase Sam’s memories, they got in the Impala headed out. They had a lot of crap to deal with, but it could all wait - at that moment, all Dean wanted was to get far, far away from that damn hospital and back to the bunker.

Ezekiel went to sleep soon after they started driving, and promised Dean that Sam would wake up soon. After that, the drive was tense as Dean couldn’t resist looking over to check on him every few seconds.

It was hours later, long past sunset, when Sam finally woke up.

“Where are we?” he asked out of nowhere, taking Dean by surprise.

“Whoa! Sam?”

“What?”

“Okay, take - take it easy. How you, uh - how you feelin’?” God, Dean was so relieved.

“Tired,” Sam answered, grimacing and shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Like I - like I slept for a week.” That was normal, Dean guessed, after what Sam had been through, but he hated knowing he still wasn’t all the way back yet.

“Well, try a day. You’ve been out since the sky was spitting angels.”

“What the hell happened?”

“What do you remember?” This was going to be tricky - Sam had known Dean his whole life, and he knew exactly how Dean acted when he was lying.

“Uh, the church, uh, feeling like crap...the angels falling, and that’s it.”

“But you’re feelin’ good?”

“Yeah, I mean, just um…” Sam trailed off, looking around the car like something wasn’t making sense to him. “Wait, you’ve been driving around with me passed out in the passenger’s seat for a day?”

Crap. “Ah, I mean, I stopped, you know...let a few Japanese tourists take some pictures, nobody got too handsy.” The joking worked; Sam swallowed the excuse even though it was one of the worst Dean had ever come up with.

“I knew you’d pull through,” Dean said, in a moment of emotion that was less out of character than he liked to believe. “I meant what I said at the church. You’re capable of anything, Sam. And hell if you didn’t prove me right.”

Sam’s face still looked sort of uncomfortable, like he wasn’t really sure what to do with it, but he managed to look touched for a second before turning serious.

“Good,” he replied. “‘Cause we got work to do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've now made it through part 2, and we applaud and thank you. Next chapter is loosely based on episode 2 with a bit of episode 3 thrown in, and it is almost entirely new material, so stay tuned!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Feedback is appreciated - we are trying to create something interesting and good enough to replace the disappointment of much of season 9. We are only two fans, so we need to hear what everyone else thinks as well!


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